The Man In The Mirror

by Georgia Le Carre

  I worked all day long, but my mind wasn’t on it.

  I couldn’t wait to talk to the woman and establish a good working relationship. Before Jillian poisoned her against me. I knew Jillian’s methods. A drop of invisible poison at a time, daily. Drop. Drop. Drop. Until the victim is a dead man.

  I didn’t know what time to call, but when I had gone to visit my son last night, I had seen the room next to him had been aired and the door left open so I knew she was in the room next to Zackary. I could see his room from my quarters, which meant I could also see hers. I knew she would eat with the rest of the staff so I waited for her lights to come on. At half-past nine her light came on.

  I had gone from paralyzed and broken in every sense of the word, to the present where a ray of light had filtered into my darkness. I clung to the hope that through her, little by little, I could ingratiate myself into my son’s world until the day he became old enough not to fear me anymore.

  I placed a call on the intercom system and waited for her response. She didn’t answer immediately so I walked over to the window and I could see her shadow standing in the middle of the room. I wondered if she was still unaware of how the system worked. Then she walked forward and in a few seconds her voice came through.

  “Mr. King?” she said. Her voice sent a shiver down my spine. It reminded me of being in a wood-paneled private room in a restaurant in France waiting for the waiter to uncork a 2003 bottle of Le Clos Du Mesnil. Listening to the sound of Krug gurgling into a glass. First the luxurious scent, then the dry taste of Krug on my tongue. Crisp bubbles breaking on my tongue, silky liquid running down my throat.

  I found myself for a brief moment, unable to respond, to even speak. I couldn’t understand the effect that one single word had on me. I knew she was most probably not beautiful and almost definitely a married older woman. Except for her PA, Jillian did not like young staff. Her reasoning was she liked experienced staff, but I think she hated any woman who was younger than her.

  “Mr. King?” she called huskily.

  I cleared my throat. It was a long time since I spoke to a woman and my voice sounded strange even to my own ears. “How is Zackary?”

  “He’s asleep. I put him to bed at the prescribed time, Sir.”

  “Please call me Brett.”

  There was a slight pause. “All right, Brett.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Charlotte. Charlotte Conrad.” She sounded young, but she couldn’t be.

  “How was his introduction to you?”

  She sucked in her breath. For some weird reason I could almost picture her smile, pure and unrestrained. “He was quite shy at first, but as the day went on he became a bit more interactive.”

  “He is naturally very quiet,” I said.

  “Hmmm.”

  I could tell that she was uncomfortable, but I still did not want to let her go. “What was his day like?”

  “Well, we had a strange introduction. He threw up.”

  “He threw up? Why? Is he alright?”

  “He’s not sick or anything. Mrs. Blackmore said that it was probably due to him being too excited to see his mother.”

  “Right.” My heart sank. There was something unnatural and unhealthy about my son’s attachment to his mother. He was too delicate, too afraid of everything. I was aware he needed a father figure.

  “I was wondering—” She hesitated.

  “Wondering what?”

  “It’s nothing,” she replied.

  “No, speak your mind.”

  “I just expected that a boy of his age would spend a lot of time playing outside the house. The weather was so lovely today, but of course, he is not allowed to play outside.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean by he is not allowed to play outside?”

  For a few seconds she was quiet and I let the silence ride. I was getting to the bottom of this no matter what. “It’s in my instructions. Zackary isn’t allowed to play outside the house. I believe Madam may be concerned it would expose him to germs and diseases.”

  I felt the fury like a molten ball of lava in my gut, burning. I felt sick and my hand shook with my anger. Thank God, she was not in the castle. If she had been I feared I would have been able to control myself from going to her room and giving her a fucking thrashing she would never forget. But what would be the point, anyway? She’d probably get a sexual kick out of it. What the hell was she trying to do? What else was she doing without my knowledge? What other restrictions were in the nanny’s list.

  “Take him outside to play tomorrow,” I said.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she responded. “I will do as you say tomorrow, Brett.”

  “Thank you,” I said and cut the connection. For an hour I paced the floor. Then I called Logan, my personal assistant in London, and asked him to get me a bottle of Le Clos Du Mesnil.

  “What year, Mr. King?”

  “2003.”

  Two hours later I heard the helicopter land on the helipad. I waited fifteen minutes then I walked out of my bedroom. When the discreet knock came, I opened the door and Logan came in. The champagne was already inside an ice bucket and he had brought two flutes with him. He set everything on the table. “Would you like me to pour, Mr. King?”

  “No, that will be fine, Logan. Thanks.”

  He nodded and left.

  I sat in front of the window. The nanny’s window was already dark. I lifted my glass in her direction. Things were going to change around here. I warned Jillian before. Our arrangement was only good while our son benefitted by it. She was sailing dangerously close to the edge.

  I tipped the glass and let the bubbles break on my tongue. It was years since I last tasted it. Since I even wanted it. I didn’t want that life back. I could see it clearly now. How shallow and meaningless it was.

  I thought of Zackary’s nanny sleeping peacefully in her bed and I wished her well. She had no idea she had woken me up from my deep sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Charlotte

  The sound of the helicopter blades woke me up from my sleep. I had dozed off after reading my book. I could hear it getting closer and closer and then landing. Without switching on my light, I walked over to the window, but it must have landed on the other side of the castle. The helicopter was switched off and calm was restored to the night. I looked at the time. It was nearly midnight.

  I lay back down on the bed and wondered if someone had arrived. Seemed a weird time to be arriving. Then again it was a weird household. Perhaps it was Mrs. King coming back. I thought about my conversation with Brett King. His voice was deep and smooth. It sounded like the voice of a very sophisticated, suave man of great culture and knowledge.

  Even though I had felt his anger throbbing through the intercom system his voice had remained incredibly calm. This was my first night in the country after a long time being in the city and I was struck by how incredibly quiet it was. I could literally hear myself breathe. The quiet was broken by my phone vibrating against the desk. I leapt out of bed. It was April. Taking it with me I plopped myself onto the bed.

  “Are you still awake?” she asked.

  I was instantly worried about her. “Yes, but why are you calling so late?”

  “Why are you whispering?” she asked dropping her own voice.

  “I don’t know. It’s so deathly quiet here, it feels wrong to disturb it.”

  She giggled. “You’re mad.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Come on, tell me why you’re calling. Where is Yuri?”

  “He’s downstairs, working. After you told me about that weird household I couldn’t sleep thinking about you. How did your first day go?”

  I sighed and ran through my memories and impression of the day. They had all been inevitably overshadowed by my short conversation with Brett King.

  “Oh Lord, what did she do?” she asked, thinking my sigh had been about Mrs.
King.

  “Nothing. She went to some function, probably in London, and hasn’t come back yet. Unless, she was in the helicopter that just landed a few minutes ago.”

  “Then why did you sigh like that?”

  “I just spoke to the boy’s father over the intercom.”

  “Wow! What was he like?”

  My mind went back to Brett’s voice. “He was nice. He had a rich voice. One of those deep and smooth voices. I can imagine him wearing a velvet suit and sitting in a box in an opera house.”

  “I wonder if he was handsome?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied. “But he has something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t describe it. There is something magnetic about him. I could listen to him all night.”

  “Whoa! Watch it. That’s someone’s husband, Charlotte.” April sounded anxious.

  “I didn’t mean it in that way. I think I am attracted to him because he has suffered a lot and I want to try to help him. He loves his son, but the boy is afraid of him.”

  “Just be careful that it doesn’t become anything more. Remember your motto. Other women’s husbands are off limits.”

  “Yeah, I know that. I won’t go there even though the housekeeper said his wife sort of abandoned him when he met with his accident and went her own way.”

  “Wow, she sounds like a complete bitch.”

  “Apparently, she has loads of lovers.”

  “You’re not looking for an excuse to have an affair with him, are you?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said firmly. “I told you it’s not like that. It’s something to do with the guilt I feel about Aisha. I just think maybe I’m getting a second chance to help. To redeem myself.”

  She sighed. “It was not your fault, babe.”

  “I know. Look, I should go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Have fun indoors.”

  “No, I’m taking Zackary outside to play tomorrow.”

  “Hey! His mother said no.”

  “His father insisted otherwise.”

  “Whoa, Charlotte, you’re on a tightrope right now.”

  “Tell me about it, but I have to do what’s right for the kid. I’ll just take him out for a short while.”

  “Alright then, let me know how it goes.”

  “Wait—” I called just before she hung up.

  “What is it?”

  “Does … can someone’s voice affect you through the phone?”

  She was quiet for a few moments, so I immediately stepped in. “Don’t assume anything, it’s just an innocent question.”

  “What exactly is innocent about that question? Whose voice affected you through the phone?”

  “Goodnight!” I said to her.

  But she was like a dog with a bone. “Don’t you dare put the phone down.”

  “It’s nothing, I was just wondering.”

  “Charlotte …”

  I started to regret my decision to even ask the question in the first place. “You know who …” I mumbled.

  “What? You just said …”

  “Forget it. It’s late and I’m tired.”

  Her voice was serious. “What was so special about his voice?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know. It was just … I’m not doing this. It was nothing. Goodnight, April.”

  I cut the call and threw my phone aside. I shut my eyes to sleep, but shivered at the waft of the early autumn breeze. The nights in the country were much colder than London.

  Dragging myself off the bed, I headed over to the window by my bedside and was about to pull the curtains shut when I stopped. Mrs. Blackmore had told me earlier that his wing was opposite mine, across the inner courtyard. All the lights were turned off, other than perhaps one dim lamp, and I got the glimpse of a shadow by the window, standing silhouetted in the dark, just as I was.

  I was startled, but I didn’t scream in fright. Unmoving, I stood and watched the figure, tall and unidentifiable in the shadows for a few more seconds.

  Was that him?

  Whoever he was I knew he was watching me, staring straight ahead, and unmoving. I was suddenly hot. Stepping away from the windows I stood just inside the shadows and watched him. He turned away and I found my breathing was shallow. Had he truly been watching me, or was it all just my imagination? A trick of the light. My phone buzzed and I picked it up without even bothering to check the ID. I smiled as I saw that my mother was trying to Skype me.

  “I knew you were awake because I saw your green light,” she said.

  “You’ve really learned to use your phone properly now, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, I have,” she said proudly.

  I smiled. “Good.”

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.

  “No, you didn't. How are you?”

  “I’m alright. How are your new employers?”

  “They’re alright,” I replied.

  “Are they nice people?”

  “Yeah, they’re both great.”

  “Oh, good. You know how I worry about you.”

  “Mom, I’m living in a castle. You should see this place. It’s like a fortress.”

  “Well, as long as they are nice to you.”

  “They are. I’m just about to go to bed, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Yes, you do that. You must be tired. I just wanted to say thank you. I received the money you sent. You’re a wonderful daughter to me.”

  Her compliment made my heart turn to mush. “Wow, you change your tone so easily don’t you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember when you threw me down the stairs for being your too stubborn, bad tempered daughter?”

  “I didn't throw you down the stairs, you brat, you fell.”

  “And whose fault was that?”

  “I’m sending the money back to you if you're going to gloat about that accident,” she snapped, and I was glad I had my feisty Mom back. “If not for those damn scraps they call a pension,” she continued, “I wouldn’t have to bother yo—”

  “You're not bothering me, Mom. Being able to give back to you is a blessing for me. I love you.”

  She sighed deeply. “I love you, little one. Make sure you take care of yourself. When will your day off be?”

  “I’m yet to sort it out. When I do I’ll let you know, alright?”

  “Very well, goodnight sweet child of mine.”

  “Goodnight, Mom.”

  Chapter 11

  Charlotte

  I was very tired and deep in sleep, but I heard my door creak open.

  My eyes fluttered open for a moment, but I saw nothing so I shut them and turned away, too exhausted to be bothered. Then, I felt the bed around me compress down as though someone were joining me on it. My heart lurched into my throat, and my eyes shot open. Through the darkness, I met the glittering gaze of a stranger.

  A hand shot over my mouth to muffle the scream that rose up in my throat, but then I looked into his eyes and I knew he would not hurt me. He was wounded and I felt a simple peace settle over my heart.

  I reached out a hand and touched his face. It was covered by a mask. It felt warm from his skin and it glinted in the soft shadows. He didn’t do anything so I carefully took the mask off, but it was too dark to see his face properly. His eyes never left my face. My hand moved to the switch on the table lamp, but he caught it. His hand was large and strong. There were calluses on his palms.

  What came next was a kiss. At first gentle, then more and more passionate until it shot a dose of ecstasy down to my core. My arms rose up. I found the fingers of one hand in his hair, and the other circling around his shoulders, as though terrified that he would disappear.

  He dragged away his lips to press them on my neck. The action set me on fire. My arms fell away as I reveled in the sweet assault. An alarm sounded in the back of my head. What are you doing, Charlotte? You don't know this man. And yet I felt no real fear, or a s
ense of caution.

  His hands tore away at my pajama bottoms. A gasp escaped my lips when the tip of his tongue dug into my navel. An ache began somewhere deep inside me. I began to writhe in anticipation. He opened my thighs and bent his head to look between them.

  “Jesus, Charlotte. You’re so beautiful. And so fucking wet,” he rasped.

  I recognized his voice and responded to it. He was no stranger. I knew this man.

  He lowered his head I was still trying to see his face, but it was almost completely shadowed. When he took my swollen nub in his velvet mouth and sucked on it sensuously, like someone sucking a sweet, I almost shot out of the bed. Juices poured out of me.

  My hands fisted the sheet and my body arched. The sheets were jerked out of their hold under the mattress when his hot, wet tongue lapped at me, as if I was a melting cone. I whimpered with ecstasy.

  “Shhh … the child,” he whispered, and clamped his hand over my mouth.

  I couldn’t recover, his tongue speared into me, and my hands tore at his hair.

  My moans I was sure had moved to borderline screams. Thank God for his palm pressing down on my mouth. I tried to say something, but there was no coherence. Just a muffled animal sound. Weird. Embarrassing.

  I wanted to come … I wanted this to end … before I went out of my mind.

  My fingers moved to my swollen nub to aid the process along, but before I could get to it, he took it between his teeth and bit down. The pain was precise, but it was the trigger I needed. A scream was torn from my throat. Then, hot cream poured from my slit as I lost it.

  “Fuck!” I cursed.

  I had come, but the maddening ache for more refused to stop. I wanted more. Much more. Unsatisfied, I moved my legs and wrapped them around his head, trapping his mouth on my pussy.

  “Who was he? Who the fuck was he?

  I needed to know. I needed to know now. I reached down to pull his head up to mine. It was too dark to see. I had to see his face in the light.